All the Time in the World
by nfna118
Summary: Stan accidentally stumbles upon Kyle in a compromising position. Feelings ensue.
1. Chapter 1: Stan

**Chapter 1: Stan**

Okay. So. I… I'll try to relate this as coherently/objectively as I can, but I have such an adrenaline high right now and I'm freaking out and I don't know if it's in a good or a bad way, so… Anyways.

After I got ready for bed and said 'night to the family, I stripped down to my underwear (black boxer briefs tonight) and got on my laptop like I always do, to check Facebook and dick around and watch porn to jerk off. I'd found Chaturbate recently. I've always liked cam shows – the amateur nature, the interactivity – and Chaturbate was free to join and chat. I never cammed myself, of course, and I couldn't buy tokens without a credit card, so I usually scanned the first page for anyone super-hot, then skipped to the last and chatted with the exhibitionists. I don't have tokens; they don't want any: a perfect match.

When I started on the site, I watched the girls, of course. I'm a horny teenage guy. But recently I've started checking out the guys too. I think it's the taboo of it that turns me on, honestly. I mean, I even then I'm drawn to the feminine-looking guys – fair-skinned, blushing, young-looking, skinny, hairless – twinks, I guess. So probably the taboo turning me on, not the cocks.

Anyways, here I was tonight, checking out the first page of guys. There was a new guy – broflove – who from the thumbnail looked like he had a red bush (I've always been partial to gingers) and a _huge_ dick. Like, we're talking at least 9-10" of cock here. I decided to check him out even though he already had over 500 viewers.

…My gut reacted before I did. It clenched up into a tight knot a half-second before I consciously realized – I know that room. I know that window. Those Terrence and Philip sheets. Fuck, I know the back of that hand better than I know my own.

I was watching my Super Best Friend, Kyle Broflovski, pleasure himself. What. The. Fuck.

My immediate reaction was to get the fuck out, X out, just get myself out of the situation. But for whatever messed-up reason, I didn't.

I mean – he _is_ hot. Not gonna lie. I'm a little mesmerized by that dick. I always thought I had a pretty nice dick – 6.5", just about. But this – this was perfection. Not pencil thin or scary thick or veiny – just perfectly proportioned. A nicely trimmed bush (no wonder I'd never seen a treasure trail) and a light dusting of hair on his balls.

But – the knot in my stomach was still churning away. This was – _wrong_. A violation of privacy. There are like 600 people watching _my_ Super Best Friend jerking off. No one should see that except for me.

Wait… what.

No. It's wrong because _I_ shouldn't be watching him without his knowledge. What he does on his own time is his own business. He's his own person.

My gut clenched even tighter in response. No. No, he's not. _We_ 're _our_ own person. That's how it's always been. Since we lived right down the street from each other, our moms arranged playdates for us back when we were babies. We did everything together as kids. Our parents thought it was cute how inseparable we were and even encouraged it, I think. They weren't _his_ parents or _my_ parents – they were _our_ parents.

Even when we started school, we were always in the same classes. (Not such a surprise in elementary – just one class per grade – but even in middle and high school we made sure to sign up for the same classes). We met Cartman and Kenny and the four of us hung out, but it was never quite equal. Kyle and I would share secret glances, make sure to stand next to each other, even hold hands when we were little (until we realized Cartman was right and it was kind of super gay).

Sleepovers started in first or second grade. They'd happened before – usually when one set of parents was out of town – and it was always great, snuggling up on the same bed, listening to him breathe as I fell asleep. But now Kyle had decided we should have weekly sleepovers every Friday night. He had come up to me after school one day, eyebrows up, looking anxious. "Hey, Ley," he said as we started walking home. I turned my head to give him my full attention. Everyone called me Stan. My family called me Stanley. Only Kyle called me Ley, and only when we needed to talk about something Super Serious.

"Hey, Ky," I replied gently, to let him know I was paying him all my attention. "What's up?"

"I've been thinking…" he began, and trailed off, biting his lip. He only did that around me. Usually he was Mr. Confident, always having a plan, knowing what to do, but when it was just us, he was suddenly – vulnerable. Like how I reacted mattered more to him than anything else in the world.

"Mmm?" I prompted.

"Well, I really like when we have sleepovers, and we're always over each other's houses, so… I was wondering… Could we make it a regular thing? Like, I dunno, weekly?" He'd been looking at the sidewalk in front of us as he talked, but now he turned his face to me, eyebrows up even higher than before, corners of his mouth tight in anticipation.

"Dude," I said. "Yes."

It was one of those moments when Kyle's whole face lit up, his mouth relaxing into a toothy grin, his green eyes sparkling, a blush of joy filling his cheeks. He stopped walking. I held out my hands to take his – things always felt more special when we held hands – but he bypassed that and flung his arms around my neck instead. Surprised, I almost fell over (even though I was a couple inches taller!), but I caught myself and hugged him back tight.

We didn't talk about it anymore on the way home, since we didn't need to. We knew how we felt. That night, Kyle did that taking-charge thing he does and before I knew it, we were set to have sleepovers every Friday after school.

Since we were so young, at first it wasn't much more than a normal playdate. We'd play outside, have dinner, and get ready for bed right after. I packed an overnight bag the first couple of times, but we quickly realized we should just leave clothes and things at each other's houses.

But sleeping together – that was the best part. I had a teddy bear at home, of course (although I never had an unhealthy attachment to it like Cartman did with his Clyde Frog…), but I always slept better with Kyle. We'd stay up whispering to each other until one of us fell asleep. Kyle always fell asleep first. And when we woke up, Kyle always had his arms around me, like I was his teddy bear. Every damn time. I usually woke up first and just lay there, content with the world in those timeless moments.

Fourth grade changed everything, while really changing nothing. That was the year of all of the insane supernatural adventures. That was the year that we became Super Best Friends. No, scratch that. That was the year that we _realized_ we were Super Best Friends. A lot of messed-up things happened. Most of the time, I was fucking terrified. Or, I would have been, if Kyle weren't there. Somehow, everything was just on this side of okay if I could see him, touch him, know we were in this together. And he needed me too. In public, even when it was just us, Kenny, and Cartman, he was his normal, take-charge, in-control self. But when it was just the two of us, especially if we'd been separated, well…

Of course we'd seen each other cry. We were little kids; we cried all the time. But the first time I really saw Kyle cry was the night we realized we were Super Best Friends, after I'd saved him from being murdered by the Blaintologists. He'd held himself up well in public – like literally always – but it was a Friday. When we got home (my house, this week), he didn't say anything. He followed me listlessly up the stairs, which was unusual for him. Usually he'd be chattering away by now, me smiling and nodding and loving that he only acted this way around me.

When we reached my room, I let him go in first, then closed the door behind us. I reached out to take his hands, but instead he flung his arms around me. It was tighter than ever before, but not for a second did it feel like he was trying to squeeze the life out of me. No, I could tell he was trying to _keep_ the life in me, to make sure I was solid, was real – was his.

Before I even had time to consciously process anything, I was squeezing him back – I'm here, I'm real, I'm yours.

For a while, we didn't say anything. I was still taller than him, so he buried his head in my chest, and I was just able to rest my chin on top of his head, completely enveloping him. At first, he was just breathing heavily as I rubbed big circles on his back. But soon his body was wracked by sobs, soaking the front of my shirt in the process, probably with snot in addition to tears. But there was no shame. For one thing, we were nine-year-old boys – what's a little snot between friends? But more importantly, we both needed this.

Gradually, gradually, the sobs subsided and his body stilled. (To be fair, I was absolutely crying too, so I guess I should say _our_ bodies stilled.) And the first thing he said? "I almost lost you, Ley. I almost lost you."

What the hell, Kyle. You almost just _died_. You should be thinking about yourself, that _you're_ alive. _Your_ family. Something. But no. You thought of me.

And now I was the one sobbing, and though nothing physically changed, suddenly he was holding me.

I don't remember how, but we somehow made it over to my bed, lying next to each other, still holding on just as tight. Our breathing slowed, the tears stopped flowing. We were both absolute wrecks and would have been humiliated for life if anyone else had seen us separately, never mind cuddling together – but just lying there, covered in mucus and sweat and tears, our breathing aligned, felt like the most perfect thing in the entire world.

By silent mutual agreement, we didn't come out for dinner that night, and my parents were smart enough not to knock. We fell asleep at some point, all tangled up. In that place halfway between real life and dreams, I felt Kyle's breath right in my ear.

"Ley…" he started, and paused. "Ley, I love you."

"Ky," I whispered back, "I love you too."

Neither of us mentioned it in the morning, but we both knew it wasn't a dream.

So, no. No, goddammit! He is _not_ his own person. He has no right to show off that perfect body of his to anyone but me, never mind hundreds of random strangers on the internet.

I had to stop this.

Now, whenever my dad's drunk in public, he usually ends up in his underwear. Which means his pants get left behind. Which means someone has to pick them up. Which means me. I know. Super gross, super embarrassing. But – his pants have his wallet, and his wallet has his credit cards. I may have borrowed some numbers in case of emergency. I doubt he of all people would notice. I mean, he might even have his own Chaturbate account.

…Ew…

Moving on.

I quickly entered some information and thank god it went through. Now that I have some tokens…

 **XMallow** has requested a private show with **broflove**.

(Yes, I know. I thought it was clever.)

A pause – the requisite profile-checking to make sure that I'm not some 90-year-old perv – and then:

 **broflove** has accepted your private show request.

…Great plan. Now what. Fortunately, he took charge.

 **broflove:** hey

 **XMallow:** hey, hru?

 **broflove:** good. horny haha, you?

 **XMallow:** yea, me too.

 **XMallow:** can we talk for a bit 1st tho?

 **broflove:** yea sure, what about?

 **XMallow:** i dunno dude

 **XMallow:** like tell me about you

 **XMallow:** like are you gay?

 **broflove:** yea haha

Fuck. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

Kyle was gay? Is gay? What the hell, man? Why the fuck hadn't he told me? Why was I learning this just now? Why was he telling RANDOM STRANGERS ON THE INTERNET something he hadn't told _me_ , his Super Best Friend?

But was I completely blindsided? Not if I was really being honest with myself. Kyle'd never had a girlfriend. Never talked about wanting one. Never brought up girls, except to agree with me when I wanted to talk about them. He'd only ever briefly mentioned having a crush in the most general terms – for obvious reasons now.

But if he's gay… I thought back again to our sleepovers.

Ever since that night, we'd gotten even closer, if that was possible. Mostly, it was in private. He'd always find a way to touch me, to be in physical contact with me. He'd play footsies with me under the dinner table. Wrestling became more frequent. He'd pick dog hair off my shirt, or run his fingers through my hair. Our knees would touch when we played video games, our elbows would brush when we did our homework.

I asked him about it a couple months in. "I dunno, Dude," he said. "It just kind of makes me feel safe, y'know?" And he looked at me with his eyebrows up, like I could crush his entire world with a single word. "Is it okay?"

"Dude," I said. "Yes."

So that's just how it went from then on. At first, I didn't really care one way or the other – and if it was important to Kyle, well, it was important to me too. But gradually, I came to appreciate it for its own sake. It got to the point where the absence was noticeable, like an unscratched itch. At home, I'd start initiating contact. School was harder – I'd be as discreet as I could, but Cartman still managed to rag on us so sometimes I just had to deal with the itch all day until our walk home.

The sleepovers continued, of course. Somewhere around seventh or eighth grade, our parents sat down with us and told us it was time to stop sharing a bed, that we were too old and too big – and strongly implying it was too gay (actually, I think Randy might have said that last out loud…). So, every Friday night, we dutifully rolled out the sleeping bag and rumpled it up and got into bed side-by-side like we always did.

But ever since that night, there was no pretending. Kyle just wrapped his arms around me right from the start. Sometimes I let him be the big spoon, sometimes I faced him and hugged him back. Either way, our legs were all tangled up, and it felt like we were more one person than two. No matter what else had been happening in life, I never slept better than when I had Kyle curled around me.

In the back of my mind, I knew this wasn't normal. That Cartman and Kenny and Clyde and Token and Craig and Tweek never did anything like this. (Well, actually, maybe Craig and Tweek did…) But – we were Super Best Friends, I told myself. It didn't have to be gay if we didn't want it to be.

Except – Kyle did, it seemed. That gave a new meaning to all the morning wood we ignored at first and then giggled over… I knew he was hung, but I'd never seen it – before tonight.

And there it was, still on the screen in front of me.

 **broflove:** what about you?

 **broflove:** are you gay?

Fuck. Double fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I mean, it's not like I have a problem with gay people. I just – wasn't one, y'know? I still hung out with Craig and Tweek. But I had a girlfriend. Wendy and I had dated in elementary school, of course. We spent middle school apart, but we started dating for real in high school, near the end of freshman year. We went on dates and made out in the hallways, and in cars once we got them. She wanted to wait until marriage, which I was surprisingly okay with. (She'd started talking about oral sex recently, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that.)

But not everything was perfect. We actually fought a fair amount – mostly about Kyle, come to think of it. And it was usually my fault. The time we passed Kyle as we were heading to the ice skating rink and I decided to invite him and ended up skating mostly with him. The time Wendy bought concert tickets for a Friday night and I didn't go with her because, well, because it was Friday night. The time I cancelled a dinner date because Kyle's eyebrows had been raised the whole walk home from school, so we just cuddled in bed all afternoon – that's what he needed, so that's what I gave him. Actually, not too long ago, in one of our fights, Wendy had shouted, "Sometimes I feel like you're dating Kyle instead of me!"

But… but… I sighed.

 **XMallow:** i dunno dude

 **XMallow:** i have a gf

 **XMallow:** but i think maybe i might be bi?

And now the most important question, maybe of my whole life.

 **XMallow:** do you have a crush on anyone?

 **broflove:** yea haha

 **broflove:** i think he's straight tho :/

I sucked in my breath.

 **XMallow:** tell me about him

As he started typing, his cock still hard, I thought seriously for the first time about Kyle having a crush on someone. It would be weird for him to have a girlfriend, just because he's never shown any interest. But I could get over that, because I have Wendy. That's just how life goes, even with Super Best Friends. But if he had a crush on a _guy_. Like who? Token was pretty attractive. Clyde has that boy-next-door look. Kenny, if he likes bad boys, rough on the edges but still damn attractive. But – how could he like a guy besides me? Even though I knew he couldn't see me, my eyebrows raised of their own volition. I'd just handed Kyle my life.

 **broflove:** well he's super cute obviously

 **broflove:** he has black hair and these piercing blue eyes

 **broflove:** and we've been best friends since literally forever

 **broflove:** but he doesn't know i'm gay

 **broflove:** and i can't tell him

 **broflove:** i can't

 **broflove:** because i would literally die if i lost him

 **broflove:** sorry for dumping that on you

 **broflove:** you're here for a show, not my problems

Shit. We were still in a show on a fucking webcam site.

 **XMallow:** dude wait up

 **XMallow:** i want you to do something for me

 **broflove:** yea?

Shit. His dick was rising again. No. Not like that.

 **XMallow:** i want you to stop camming tonight

 **XMallow:** if you wanna jack off that's fine, just not on the internet

 **XMallow:** and if you still want, we can do another show tmrw night? so you wont lose out on tokens that way?

 **broflove:** uh okay?

 **broflove:** if that's what you want?

 **broflove:** you sure?

 **XMallow:** yea im sure dude

 **broflove:** ok then

 **broflove:** see you tomorrow night ;-)

And just like that, he was gone.

So now I need a plan for how to tell my Super Best Friend that I saw his enormous cock and I know he's gay for me and I might maybe possibly be gay for him too. Well. I'm fucked.


	2. Chapter 2: Kyle

**Chapter 2: Kyle**

Okay. So. Stan's been acting weird all day. He's been – subtly off, not in the ways that anyone else would notice, just in the ways you might notice if you'd literally been in love with your straight best friend for your entire fucking life.

He picked me up at 6:46. That was how I first knew it was going to be an off day. The agreed-upon time is 6:45, but he's always there by 6:43; 6:44 at the _absolute_ latest. Because he can't wait to see me – or at least that's what I tell myself. But today, he showed up at 6:46. I had a huge pool of nerves and anxiety churning in my stomach, and my fingers had already half-dialed his number by the time I recognized his headlights rushing towards me.

"I'm so sorry, Dude," was the first thing he said, looking extremely flustered. "I just – I dunno. I guess I lost track of time."

"It's okay, Dude," I replied as I patted his shoulder – my first Ley touch for the day.

He flashed me a relieved, apologetic smile, letting me know he really was sorry. He didn't, however, offer up an explanation – again out of character, but I didn't have a chance to question it because his hand found its way to my knee, his thumb tracing out small circles. My whole body relaxed, letting out tension I didn't know I had. I glanced over, but his eyes were fixed on the road – and the corner of his mouth was tight. That meant Stan had something on his mind.

Now, I'm a very emotional person. By that, I mean that I'm very in tune with my emotions. I just don't show them to anyone except for Stan. Stan knows everything I'm feeling, usually without me even having to say anything. The number of times I've been lonely when he's out with Wendy and then he invites me along or ditches her… I can't even count them. But Stan –

Let's just say Stan isn't good with understanding his own emotions. Like when his parents almost divorced and instead of realizing he was upset about it he channeled it into cynicism and shut everyone out for eleven days. And fourteen hours, not that anyone's counting…

We had a Talk after that. It was Friday night. We were lying in my bed (it should have been his, but he was… out of state last week, plus neither of us much wanted to be around Randy right now). Tonight was a night where Stan faced me and held me too, which I was very glad about. "Ley," I said softly. "I know… I know things are hard for you right now. But that means they're hard for me, too. Because whatever you go through, I go through too. That's how Super Best Friends work."

He started to speak, but I put my finger over his lips.

"Hang on, I'm almost done. Just – it's okay if you feel like this. That's fine. Well, it's not fine, but you know what I mean. But you can't shut me out. I'm – not a person without you."

It was true. Everyone had been so focused on Stan's diagnosed cynicism that no one – literally no one – noticed that I'd been seriously checked out and depressed ever since Stan had left. I'd already blocked most of it out, but I remember the moment when Stan showed up. I hadn't seen him yet, and the first thing he said was, "Dude, what the fuck are you doing hanging out with Cartman?" I whipped around like I'd suddenly woken up from a dream and the world had color again. I didn't even care that Cartman was there or that he'd call us fags for the next three weeks – I ran over and flung myself on Stan. And I felt whole again.

"Dude," he replied to me, snuggling closer, "I promise. I can't promise I'll always know how I'm feeling. I'm not good at that like you are." I felt his smile against my cheek. "But I'll tell you that I don't know how I'm feeling and I'll tell you when I figure it out. Because –" his voice broke, "Because I'm not a person without you either, Ky. I love you."

"I love you too, Ley," I whispered back.

That was one of the best nights of sleep I've ever had.

~IIIIIIII~

Since then, there have been lots of times Stan's been confused, but he's kept his promise. At first he told me outright, but by now we both know I can tell when he's confused. And that tight corner of his mouth tells me he's confused. Must be something pretty major, but I can wait. I trust him with my life, my heart, my soul. I can wait for this.

We get to school and head to our lockers, things temporarily feeling like normal again. Freshman year, the powers-that-be had decided to assign us lockers at opposite ends of the building. Needless to say, that didn't last for long. Ever since, they'd been smart enough to just assign us adjacent lockers from the beginning of the year. Stan never questioned it.

Classes were pretty normal. Stan was slightly quieter than usual, but not so much as to be outside the typical range. We finally separated between third and fourth block. Stan's and Wendy's routes crossed at this point, so I absented myself to let them do – whatever it is they do. It sucks, but all in all it's a price I'm willing to pay. At first, imagining them making out hurt. But then once I'd seen them making out, it wasn't as bad – because Stan didn't give her the same tender intensity he instinctively gives to me. The relationship I have with him is fundamentally – different.

I was in for another shock, though, when I completed my aimless wanderings and arrived in fourth period. First, his hair and collar weren't rumpled like they usually are after he sees Wendy. His lips usually show signs too – but I couldn't see them. Because _Stan wasn't looking at me_.

Another way I deal with the brief separation is that Stan constantly glances over his shoulder until I arrive. I honestly don't know if it's conscious or not. But today - today he was staring straight ahead.

I slid into my seat. The corner of his lip was tighter than before, if that was possible.

"Dude?" I asked.

He looked up, startled, before relaxing. "Dude," he said, sounding relieved, and smiled. "Hey."

I don't remember when we started saying "Dude". It's one of those words that was popular when we were little and stuck for a while. Everyone else grew out of it, but for some reason we held onto it. Actually, not just some reason. I know exactly why.

I think it was third grade. It was a Friday night in February. We'd been playing video games all night. Some stupid racing game, mostly like MarioKart but not quite as a fun. It was really hard to control the cars. Whenever he crashed into a railing, Stan shouted "Dude!" We all knew about swearing by that point, of course, but Randy'd done something especially stupid recently and Stan was trying everything he could to just – not be Randy when he grew up. I was completely on-board with this (even though I knew he was nothing like Randy), but that didn't stop me from copying him and inserting "Dude" into literally every sentence as we played. He started smacking me every time I said it, which wasn't exactly a disincentive.

As we lay in bed that night (after our parents had told us to be quiet and go to sleep already), Stan was a little more restless than usual. "I'm so cold," he finally complained.

I kicked some more of the blanket over to him. "Here, Dude," I said. He smacked my arm.

A couple minutes later, he still wasn't comfortable. "I'm still cold," he whined.

"Sorry, Dude," I replied. I was ready for him this time and caught his arm as he reached over. This led to full-out wrestling on the bed, and somehow we ended up spooning, with my arms around him. I could feel him relax as he snuggled back into me. We'd never done this so deliberately before, even though we usually woke up that way.

"Dude," he whispered, "I don't think I'm cold anymore. And, uh… I actually really like it when you call me Dude. I'm the only one you call that. It makes me feel – special, like I'm your best friend."

"Dude," I said, "You are my best friend."

Since then, it's become our all-purpose word, usable in literally any context. "Dude?" "Dude." "Dude!" "…Dude." "…Dude?" I like to think of it as a direct connection to our emotional state. I've never articulated it quite like that to Stan, but I know he feels the same way.

I know it sounds like a stupid little thing, and usually I'd be inclined to agree. But the fact that it still persists nine years later – it means something to me. To us.

~IIIIIIII~

Things continued on in like manner until the end of the day. He was distracted in class. Wendy didn't sit with us at lunch. He kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking. I'm able to deal with it because it's Stan – but at the same time, it's hard for me to deal with, because it's Stan. I respect him enough to give him the space he needs, but that doesn't mean it's pleasant for me. Selfishly, I wish he would just hurry up and tell me what's on his mind.

Shelley needed the car for something that afternoon so his car was gone, and we got to walk home together like old times. We began the walk in silence. After a minute, Stan drew in his breath to speak. I cocked my head towards him, but he let it out instead. He opened his mouth another time or two, swallowed, and then uttered the two words that changed our lives.

"Hey, Broflove."

I froze. For a couple seconds, I felt nothing. Then I felt tingles running up my spine. Then I felt my entire world come crashing down around me.

I must have muted the auditory pathways in my brain, because Stan's voice gradually faded back in. "Ky… Ky… Ky. Say something. Dude. Ky. I'm here. I'm right here."

He _was_ right there, his hands out to take mine. My mind literally could not process what was happening. I needed space, but my feet were rooted to the ground. I turned away from Stan, letting my hands sink to my knees to have a chance at supporting myself. I choked in a breath and then another. Gasps in and out. Hyperventilating. The world swam in front of me. Words swam inside of me.

 _What. He knows. How?_

 _Slut. Whore. Wanton. He knows. Gay. Faggot. Queer._

 _Weird. Gross. Disgusting. He knows._

 _He knows._

Oh God. Oh God. He knows.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckheknows.

I can't. I can't bear to see the disgusted look on his face. Or worse, pity. The reevaluation of every little thing in our friendship. I can't bear to hear him say we can't have sleepovers anymore. That it's okay that I'm gay, but that he's not. He saw my dick. He saw my dick last night and didn't say anything. Unless.

No.

No.

Nonononono.

Mallow. It had to have been him. He knows I'm in love with him. He knows. Oh God fucking shit cock fuck dammit.

…Fuck.

I'm done. I can't. I don't care anymore. I just sink to the concrete and curl up into a ball, my face between my knees, sobbing, screaming silently.

One part of my brain tells me that other kids from school are probably still around as I bawl my eyes out on the sidewalk. I simply can't care. My life is over. What the fuck is Stan playing at, leading me on last night and being all secretive in school today and then just casually dropping that little nuclear inferno.

I'm an idiot. This is my own damn fault. I ruined my own life.

Something warm suddenly envelops me. It feels like it's been hours, but it's probably only been a couple seconds at most. I don't care what it is. It feels good. I burrow into it and grab onto it and lose my balance and roll into the grass and don't care because the warmth is there and rubbing small circules on my back just where I like them and murmuring my name over and over – "Ky, Ky, Ky, I'm here, Ky. I love you, Ky. Shh. It's gonna be –"

Shit. It's Stan. Stan is the warmth. My breath catches. I crack open my eyes. His face is right there. I can't.

I shoot out all my limbs at once to push him away. I hear a loud "oof". I must have caught him by surprise. I scrabble up and half-run, half-crawl away from him. I can't move very quickly, though, so soon enough I find myself on the ground again, this time Stan firmly on top of me.

On my back, I stare at him, his face swimming through my tears. "Ky," he said seriously, "We need to talk. We can do it here, or we can do it at my house. What do you want to do?"

I was about to argue, but there was a fierce light in Stan's eyes that I'd never seen directed at me before. I'd seen it when Token tried to sit next to me at lunch. He never did that again. I'd seen it when Kenny called me Ky. He never did that again. I'd seen it when Cartman was past the point I can handle. He did it again, of course – he's Cartman – but he always simmered down in the moment. No one else can do that. I always wondered what Stan had that no one else did. Now I know.

I suddenly felt mortified, a blush creeping up my entire body. I'd been making a spectacle of myself in public. I started shaking again as I realized that no one would tease me about it, not more than once. Stan would see to that. I don't know how I deserved any of this, but at this point I was willing to accept whatever Stan was willing to give me.

"House," I managed, barely.

"Okay, Ky," he said softly. "Let's get you up." He took my hands as he got up and slowly pulled me into him. I reflexively grabbed onto him and he pulled me into a tight hug. We stayed like that for a while.

"Okay, Ky," he murmured into my hair. "Time to go." He kept his arm around my shoulder as we slowly made our way to my house. He even kept his arm around me as we shuffled up the stairs, shouting something to appease his parents. When we made it up, I collapsed on his bed facing the wall. Stan lay down behind me, holding me tight to him. I can't remember the last time we did this. I like holding Stan too much, feeling that he's mine. But right now, I need nothing but to believe that I'm still his.

"Ky," he said. His chin rested on the top of my head, so I could feel the vibrations of his throat. "I was XMallow. You know that. I didn't know it was you when I clicked on the cam. And then when I realized it was you, it was like a punch in the stomach. I felt betrayed. I felt jealous. I felt like it was an invasion of privacy. Yours. I immediately thought that no one should get to see you except for me. And there you were, exposing yourself to hundreds of random strangers.

"I didn't know how to deal with that, emotionally. I was watching my Super Best Friend jack off with hundreds of other people. I just knew that it was wrong. And, for me, that was absolutely _true_. Not in the factual sense, but emotionally, for me. I had to stop it. So I used my dad's credit card and bought tokens so I could get rid of everyone else and it could be just the two of us. Just like it always is.

"And then we started talking and you told me that you were gay, and that you were in love with me. I was shocked, while simultaneously feeling as if everything finally, finally made sense. Because there's some level, Ky, where I've always been in love with you, since the very first time we met. I'm just – not good with emotions. You know that."

He paused. I drew in a breath, but he squeezed my shoulder and I let it out. "I told you last night I didn't know if I was gay. I'm not. On a fundamental level, I'm not really attracted to guys. But –" he continued as I stiffened and prepared to bolt, "I'm not really attracted to girls either. I mean, yes, I watch porn and jack off all the time. I'm a normal teenage guy. But those aren't real people, y'know? Yeah, I was dating Wendy," – stiffen – "but we never did anything more than make out," – relax – "because I never wanted to go further." – and relax even more.

I drew in a breath again, but – "Hang on, Ky. I'm almost done. The thing that I realized today, Ky, what I was thinking about all day, is that I'm not attracted to guys or girls. I'm attracted to you, Ky. I can't imagine being with anyone except for you. Ever. …Ever. We've shared too much. I love you, Ky, and I'm so so sorry it took me so long to realise how much I really mean that."

I didn't try to say anything, but instead rolled over carefully so that I was facing him. I didn't hug him yet, still keeping my arms close to myself, but I burrowed as much as I could into his chest. I could feel the tears soaking into his shirt, but I was smiling something fierce.

We just lay there for a while, then I inhaled, and he didn't stop me. "Was?" I croaked out, but vocal cords still raw.

"…Was?" he repeated, puzzled.

"You – you said, 'I _was_ dating Wendy'. Past tense."

"Oh," he replied simply, "Yeah. I broke up with her today between third and fourth." – Like it was no big deal. If anything can be said for Stan, he doesn't do things half-assed, at least when it comes to me.

I lifted my head up at last. I stared into his eyes, trying to convey even half of what I was feeling at that moment. Now, I've felt vulnerable a lot around Stan. Far more than I've ever felt around anyone else, probably more vulnerable than most of my friends have ever felt in their entire lives. But never – never have I felt as strongly as this very moment, staring deep into Stan's eyes, which mirrored my own.

And then suddenly his eyes were ohgodrightthere and then his lips were on mine.

Stan knows I'm a complete virgin, at least I think he does. I've never talked about even making out with anyone, because I haven't. Stan is my first kiss. At first, it's yeahthisisnewandit'snicetobesoclosetohim. And then his tongue found mine and it was ohgodsogood.

I wasn't really conscious of anything else until Stan's hands made their way down my lower back and started trying to reach under my waistband to cup my ass. I suddenly became very, very aware of how hard Stan's cock was against my own. I put a hand on his chest. "Not yet," I murmured to him, "I'm not – I'm not ready."

He looked a little hurt, although he tried to hide it. "I want it," I clarified, "Fuck, I want it, I want you, so much right now. But this is – very new for me, and I just wanna go slow, if that's okay?" My eyebrows raised up at the end there.

His face relaxed and he grinned. "Dude," he said, "Yes. We have all the time in the world."


End file.
